Jingo

And the voice in the back of his mind insisted: you heard him die, you heard them all die…somewhere else.
    “Oh, these days I carry a deflated one in my pack, sir. A very pacifying object, a football. Are you all right, sir?”
    “Eh? What? Oh. Yes. Just a bit…tired. So who’s winning?” Vimes patted his pockets, and found his last cigar.
    “It’s broadly speaking a tie, sir. I had to send four hundred and seventy-three men off, though. Klatch is now well ahead on fouls, I’m sorry to say.”
    “Sport as a substitute for war, eh?” said Vimes. He rootled in the ashes of Nobby’s fire and pulled out a half-consumed…well, it helped to think of it as a desert coal.
    Carrot gave him a solemn look. “Yes, sir. No one’s using weapons. And have you noticed how the Klatchian army is getting smaller? Some of the chiefs from distant parts are taking their men away. They say there’s no point in staying if there’s not going to be a war. I don’t think they really wanted to be here in any case, to tell you the truth. And I don’t think it’s going to be easy to get them to come back—”
    There was shouting behind them. Men were coming out of the tent, arguing. Lord Rust was among them. He looked around, talking to his companions. Then he spotted Vimes and rocketed furiously toward him.
    “Vimes!”
    Vimes looked up, hand halfway to his cigar.
    “We would have won, you know,” growled Rust. “We would have won! But we were betrayed on the brink of success!”
    Vimes stared at him.
    “And it’s your fault, Vimes! We’ll be the laughingstock of Klatch! You know the value these people put on face, and we won’t have any! Vetinari is finished ! And so are you! And so is your stupid, mongrel, cowardly Watch! What do you say to that, Vimes? Eh?”
    The watchmen sat like statues, waiting for Vimes to say something. Or even move.
    “Eh? Vimes?”
    Rust sniffed. “What’s that smell?”
    Vimes slowly shifted his gaze to his fingers. Smoke was rising. There was a faint sizzling.
    He stood up and brought his fingers up in front of Rust’s face.
    “ Take it ,” he said.
    “That’s…just some trick…”
    “Take it,” said Vimes.
    Mesmerized, Rust licked his fingers and gingerly took the ember. “It doesn’t hurt—”
    “Yes, it does,” said Vimes.
    “In fact it—Aargh!”
    Rust jumped back, dropped the ember and sucked his blistered fingers.
    “The trick is not to mind that it hurts,” said Vimes. “Now go away.”
    “You won’t last long,” Rust sneered. “You wait until we’re back in the city. You just wait.” He strode off, holding his stricken hand.
    Vimes went back and sat down by the fire. After a while he said: “Where’s he gone now?”
    “Back to the lines, sir. I think he’s ordering the men home.”
    “Can he see us?”
    “No.”
    “You sure?”
    “There’s too many people in the way, sir.”
    “You’re quite sure?”
    “Not unless he can see through camels, sir.”
    “Good.” Vimes stuck his fingers in his mouth. Sweat was pouring down his face. “Damn damn damn! Has anyone got any cold water?”

    Captain Jenkins had got his ship afloat again. It had taken a lot of digging, and some careful work with balks of timber and the assistance of a Klatchian captain who had decided not to let patriotism stand in the way of profit.
    He and his crew were resting on the shore when a greeting rang out from over them.
    He squinted into the sun.
    “That…that can’t be Vimes, can it?”
    The crew stared.
    “Let’s get aboard right now !”
    A figure started down the face of the dune. It moved very fast, much faster than a man could run on the shifting sand, and moved in a zig-zag fashion. As it drew nearer, it turned out to be a man standing on a shield.
    It slid to a halt a few feet away from the astonished Jenkins.
    “Good of you to wait, captain!” said Carrot. “Very many thanks! The others will be down in a minute.”
    Jenkins looked back to the top of the dune. There were other, darker figures there now.
    “Those are D’regs!” he shouted.
    “Oh, yes. Lovely people. Have you met them at all?”
    Jenkins stared at Carrot. “Did you win ?” he said.
    “Oh, yes. On penalties, in the end.”

    Green-blue light filtered through the tiny windows of the Boat.
    Lord Vetinari pulled the steering levers until he was pretty certain that they were heading toward a suitable ship and said:
    “What is it I can smell, Sergeant Colon?”
    “It’s Bet—It’s